Breathing Comes In Pairs Except For Twice
by hopeful-canyon
Summary: Recounting the intense final moments of the Season 5 Finale. Each chapter is told from a different character's POV. Richard's POV is up!
1. Cristina POV Waiting For Your Mercy

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

_Cristina_

Cristina had known from the moment Izzie had spilled her secret, the moment their worlds had shattered around them, that she would be facing a difficult few months ahead of her. At the time, she had comforted herself with the thought that at least she was better off than Izzie. Hell, some might say she was better off than all of them: Meredith, George, and of course, Alex. She knew what everyone thought; _Cristina, the unfeeling one who never liked Izzie anyways_. How misunderstood she was. She was definitely feeling the strain of having to be the person with all the answers, the rock, solid and unyielding, dependable and predictable. It wasn't the role she had ever asked for, but it always seemed to fall on her, either by default or habit.

And besides, she loved Izzie too. Cristina knew she didn't show it, but it's not like that was treatment unique to Izzie. She had said "I love you" to her mother only once in her entire adult life. She smiled seldom and laughed even less, but that was just the way she was, the way she'd been since she could remember. But Izzie was still important to her. It was Izzie who brought them back down to earth, despite the fact that she was a crazy dreamer. It was Izzie who balanced out their misery, who made cupcakes for birthdays and decorated the Christmas tree when no one else felt like getting festive. How Cristina had come to need Izzie.

This is why her new job was so undesirable, so achingly painful, so difficult. She had to keep Izzie alive. She had to be not only the doctor who decided which medicines were the most appropriate for her patient's disease-ridden body, but also the sheriff who policed the rules that everyone neglected when it was _one of their own_ laying in the hospital bed_._ She had to keep her focus when everyone else's vision was becoming increasingly fuzzy, and sometimes she wanted nothing more than to succumb to the easy blur, to play the role of the weary but hopeful and supportive friend. Instead, she had to be the clear-headed responsible one. Just as she needed Izzie for her optimism and cupcakes, they all needed Cristina for her responsibility and remoteness.

At least now, Christina thought, things were beginning to settle down. Izzie's surgery had completely eliminated the tumour as far as they knew. There had been a moment of sheer panic as Izzie's memory struggled and Cristina thought that that was perhaps the most terrifying part of the entire cancer ordeal. She knew Alex felt so too, questioning whether or not he had made the biggest mistake of his life letting her get the surgery, knowing it was completely irreversible. Cristina knew that if she had been the one with the tumour, she would take death over incapacitation any day. Thankfully however, even that dark cloud had lifted, and Cristina's hope in Izzie and faith in modern medicine had been restored. Izzie had remembered and was on the path to recovery.

Cristina observed as Alex leapt to Izzie's bed in a case of ecstatic disbelief. She watched as Izzie smiled radiantly back, a vision, even weak and sick and without hair. Cristina sighed softly before leaving to find Swender. She could appreciate that these two needed a moment. Izzie wasn't completely out of the woods; her kidneys were still slower than she would like but that was manageable, a minor detail compared to the war they'd just won. Cristina would return to take care of that later.

"Dr. Yang, we need you!"

Cristina lifted her head, instincts fully alert and ready for action. She turned in the direction of the voice, an older nurse with graying hair.

"What is it?" Christina demanded, picking up her pace and following the nurse. But she heard none of the nurse's reply, only the deep, commanding voice of Alex.

"Put a mask on her! Get Yang down here already!"

"Alex, what happened?" Cristina asked, returning to her professional tone, displaying no emotion. To a random passerby it would seem that Cristina's relationship to this patient, to Izzie, extended to no more than that of her doctor.

"She crashed. I had her back for two God damned minutes. Izzie, look at me. Open your eyes!" The desperation in Alex's voice was becoming all too familiar to Cristina lately, a fact that discomforted her. She forced herself to concentrate.

"Page Shepherd, page the Chief and Bailey, right now," Cristina instructed, willing her voice to remain level.

She didn't have enough energy to spare to stop Alex from working on his wife. She needed to be more doctor than sheriff right now. Cristina focused all of her attention back on Izzie, trying to bring life back to her while she waited for the back-up crew, for the people who would know what to do.

Cristina went through all the motions of a real doctor. She did everything she was supposed to do, everything she would ever be expected to do. She gazed up at Alex for just a moment. She could see the craze in his eyes and realized she was watching the rapid dissolution of not one but two lives, right in front of her. In that moment that she looked at Alex, she saw a person in love, a person at a dead end, a person who was already disappearing into a lonely, furious existence. It was horrifying and mesmerising and about a thousand other things Cristina had no hope of rationalising.

"What happened?"

"Is it her brain?"

Somehow, Cristina managed to keep her composure as she informed her two seniors of the situation. The diagnosis: hyperkalemia. Cristina was ready to fly into a rage just from that word. After everything that Izzie had gone through, that _they_ had gone through, from chemotherapy to surgery to riskier surgery to memory loss, only to be dying from too much potassium? Life was a cruel, cruel joke.

The expression on Dr. Bailey's face did little to reassure Cristina. Not that she didn't already know. They were treading on thin ice. They didn't have many options left. Izzie, poor, poor Izzie. Alex! Poor, poor Alex.

"Give me an intubation tray," Alex said, surprisingly calm.

_What did he just say?_ Cristina thought.

"Alex," she said, knowing they were stepping into dangerous territory now. They'd been here once before, with Denny. Alex gave her a disgusted look, knowing exactly where this was going and not backing down.

It was time for her to play sheriff again.

"She signed a DNR," she confided to Dr. Bailey and the Chief, still standing at the bottom of the bed processing the disaster that was their colleague, their employee, their _friend_.

"Shut up, Yang." Alex spat the words hatefully, as if it were Cristina herself who had signed the DNR for Izzie.

"She knew this might happen, that's why she signed it," she urged. Ethics, morals, having to sleep at night, wanting to keep her friend alive… All of these things ran through her head at lightning speed. Again she thought of being in this situation, of having to choose between death or a life in bed. Then she thought about Izzie, about how much she needed her to live, how important she was. Cristina knew she was in the wrong room, knew she had no business treating Izzie when she was this emotionally invested. But did either of them?

She was counting on the Chief, on Dr. Bailey, to bring her back down. The air was thick with fear, with dirty fear that made it difficult to breathe. They didn't teach you how to do this in medical school.

"Alex, this isn't what she wants."

But oh, how she wanted it. They all did. They wanted Izzie, every single one of them.

Cristina looked at the Chief, waiting for instructions. Hoping, hoping, hoping.

Alex was doing chest compressions, using all his strength to pump life into her. Cristina knew that this image would forever be burned into her mind. It was so powerful, she felt like throwing up.

"Screw the DNR! Hand me those paddles."

Cristina sighed, more of an inward release than a physical one. She had to give this everything. This really was their last chance. This had to work. Life was the only option for Izzie.

Cristina quickly took over Alex's work, compressing Izzie's chest. Her arms became machines, mechanically pumping the small organ that held so much at stake, for so many people.

Cristina doesn't know how she managed it. She doesn't know how, in all the chaos that was the room, with monitors bleeping, with shocks being fired, with orders being barked, with Alex sobbing against the wall, that she managed to look down. But she did. Cristina looked down at Izzie and saw an almost smile on her face, along with an intangible peace.

"Clear!"

Cristina held her hands up, away from Izzie, as if she was surrendering herself. She then did surrender herself, to the mercy of the monitor, hoping, hoping, hoping for a bump in the flat line, a blip that would interrupt the monotonous, steady bleeeeeeeeep.


	2. Miranda POV Butterfly Effect

_A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews, it really helps keep me motivated. I also owe a huge thanks to Waltzmatildah, my wonderful beta who I somehow forgot to mention in Chapter 1. Thanks! _

_Richard's POV will be coming up soon, and then I will be going overseas for a couple weeks. When I get back, I will do the final chapters, the ones I have been most looking forward to, Alex and Izzie's POV._

_**Miranda- Butterfly Effect**_

_Tucker had always been a coward_, Miranda thought as she closed her eyes, composing herself, slowing her breathing back to normal. It had taken five years of dating for him to actually commit to a marriage with her. More still before he was ready to have a child. He was overly cautious, concerned about finances and rushing into things and making mistakes. That was no way to live life, Miranda considered, her thoughts drifting to Izzie and Alex. Life was too short. Too short to waste with a man who didn't support her and her goals.

Miranda felt guilty as she thought it, but she began wondering why she had married Tucker in the first place. Did she love him? Yes. Of course she had. He had also been a safe person to have in her life. Not every man was willing to put their life on hold while his woman spent all her time going through school, work, advancing her career. In fact, not many men were willing to step back and let her be the breadwinner, the provider. Tucker deserved some credit for that. But if Miranda was really honest about her marriage, her relationship with Tucker, she had to admit that it was passionless. It always had been, even when they were young. It was nice, but boring.

She imagined herself in Stevens' situation. Would Tucker have asked her to marry him impulsively, on the spot, if she'd had only months to live? Would he have fought so hard for her to get a risky brain surgery, even if it was her last hope? Would he have coached her so diligently and determinedly had she lost her memory? She wasn't trying to make Tucker out to be utterly uncaring, because he wasn't. But she had to ask herself if Tucker was truly the love of her life. Was she madly in love with him? It frightened and shamed her to have to say, _No_.

Miranda's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by her pager. Taking a second to wipe the last tears off of her face, she heard another page go off almost immediately after hers. The Chief. She'd nearly forgotten he was standing with her, that they were both still in the middle of the scrub room. She looked down at her pager in sync with Richard. They both paused for a split second to look at each other grimly, the colour simultaneously draining from their faces.

"Stevens, 911."

As Miranda ran, she neglected to feel the ache in her tired knees, the throbbing pain in her small feet. She ran, more urgently than she ever had for any other patient. _Her brain, there must have been too much stress on her brain_, she thought as she raced along the hallway, following close behind the Chief. Neither spoke a word aloud until they arrived.

"What happened?"

"Is it her brain?" Miranda asked, noticing Shepherd's absence.

"No, it's hyperkalemia."

"We couldn't control the arrythmias."

"Her pressure's dropping off a cliff," Yang stated cooly.

Miranda felt her face drop, filling with dread. She knew as a doctor she wasn't supposed to question the fates and why people got sick, why good people died. She knew that all she could do was take whatever disease, whatever injury, whatever complication was handed to her and try to fix it. But as she watched the motionless form of Izzie Stevens flat on the bed, with her husband and friend trying to bring her back, she felt desperately futile. Why? Why did bad things always have to happen to good people? Innocent children died and fathers rocked their babies to sleep, never to wake up again; young, sweet boys joined the army and got shipped to war zones; bright, promising doctors got cancer and newlywed husbands lost wives.

"Give me an intubation tray," ordered Karev sharply. He wasn't going to let this go down without a fight. He wasn't going to let this go down, period.

"Alex," Mirand heard Cristina hiss. When he didn't reply, Cristina looked towards her teachers.

"She signed a DNR," she continued, beginning to display the faintest trace of emotion. She was looking for support. She was the student, and at this moment, Miranda was dreading being the teacher.

"Shut up, Yang." Alex's voice was forceful, even if it wasn't loud. He was adamant.

"Alex, this isn't what she _wants_."

Sometimes, Miranda hated this job. Not very often, but sometimes. Moments like these, when all felt hopeless; when she had to make decisions, when she had to decide whether or not a person lived or died, when she had to watch poor, beautiful souls be taken away. Miranda stood at the foot of the bed, completely immobilized by the desparity of it all. The monitor's alarm finally released her from the spell she'd been under.

"Get a crash cart!" ordered Karev.

Miranda had to follow the rules. A DNR was a DNR, even if it was a young life, even if it was a student, a colleague, a _friend_. But this black-and-white area was becoming so gray, Miranda felt herself unable to commit completely to her statement.

"Karev, if she-"

"I... look at her! Get a crash cart!"

This was too heavy for her. She couldn't be the one to let Stevens die, which is essentially what she would be doing if she refused the crash cart. She wouldn't be able to live with herself, and she would never be able to face the four people who always thought they could count on her. Miranda was grateful that the Chief was beside her, someone with more authority than her. She looked up at him expectantly, knowing that if anyone could do this, it would have to be him. She read the hesitation on his face, and her own fear grew. This was a bad, very bad.

"Screw the DNR…" he shouted finally. "… hand me those paddles."

Miranda felt the slightest bit of relief, and sprang immediately into action. They had to give this everything they had. There would be no second chances; there was no time for deliberation or consideration.

She moved Karev to a distance. She did her best to tune out his quiet sobs, growing in strength. She tried hard to ignore Stevens' familiar face as she was jerked violently off the bed, shock after shock. She willed back the tears that were threatening to break loose, even though she wasn't a crier. She held her breath as the Chief charged the paddles once more, not daring to exhale as he yelled "Clear!" She thought of the supposed 'butterfly-effect', of one flick of a butterfly's wings having a massive, powerful impact on life-altering things. She didn't want to be the butterfly that killed Izzie Stevens, so she remained absolutely still, holding her breath.


	3. Richard POV Convergence

_**A/N: Sorry about the delay in updating, this has been written for a while, I've just been hesitant to post. But here it is. Thanks again to Waltzmatildah for her beta services.**_

_**Richard - Convergence**_

Life. It was filled with failed marriages and broken dreams, sick bodies and even sicker serial killers. Richard sometimes wondered what brought about such impressive doom on the world. Was it God? Karma? He wasn't a man of faith, so he couldn't blame God. And in order for 'bad karma' to occur, bad acts had to have been committed, and they hadn't, so karma couldn't be blamed either. But Richard had developed a new theory, the only one that he believed held some logic to it. Bad things had to happen with good things in a convergent manner. Nothing in life was free; no piece of happiness or success came without having to pay for it later on. The more good you got, the more bad you would be handed. He had been deliriously happy during his first ten married years with Adele, and after that, there had been nothing but bitterness and dissatisfaction. He had had years as working in one of the top hospitals in the country, and now that he was Chief, its rankings were plunging. Of course, this rule of Richard's also suggested that people who were only ever marginally happy or successful had lower 'debts' and hence, faced fewer tragedies and failures. It was a dumb and messed up way to live, but what could you do?

At this moment, Richard knew that life's debt collectors had knocked on Miranda's door. She had a lot of paying up to do. He wordlessly placed a hand on her shoulder and felt her body tremble slightly beneath his palm. She had turned so that her back was to him, but he still knew that she was crying. Her body was warm, a stark contrast to the chill of the scrub room they were occupying. This was the woman who was always in control, who was always on top of her game and who didn't cower in the face of pressure. But control was slipping from her grasp, her world crumbling at her feet. Her child, her marriage, her career, her interns. Who knew what would remain of them after this storm had passed?

She wasn't alone though. He knew she would never be alone, especially not in a place like a hospital. Hospitals were filled to the brim with people losing lives and losing family members; filled with sick people and hurting people; filled with doctors who worked so hard and so much that they forgot that they led outside lives with spouses and children and homes. No, you were never alone in your grief in a hospital. There was always someone worse off than you.

This was Richard's hospital.

Perhaps he was responsible for Miranda's troubles. He had been thinking of her when he'd chosen Torres for Chief Resident. He knew from experience that it wasn't a position worth losing your family for. But in the end, hadn't he given it to her? Hadn't he placed immense pressure on her, great expectations that he knew her incredible work ethic would never allow her _not _to meet?

New theory: Richard was to blame.

A shrill sound formed and echoed in the hollow room. It was Miranda's pager. Seconds later, Richard's pager followed suit. Damn. This wasn't good.

It took only a moment of realization between them before their bodies carried them brusquely to the room. As he walked in the doorway, Richard discovered Yang and Karev hunched over Izzie Stevens, their hands urgently performing medical tasks. All he heard was the symphony of monitors and alarms.

"What happened," he inquired.

"Is it her brain?" Miranda was right behind him.

"No, it's hyperkalemia," informed Yang, smoothly continuing with her procedure.

"We couldn't control the arrhythmias." Karev looked awful, Richard couldn't help but notice. He was a rapidly deteriorating maniac. The worst part, Richard knew, was that this wasn't even the worst part yet.

"Her pressure's dropping off a cliff."

"Give me an intubation tray."

"Alex!" Cristina hoarsed accusingly. "She signed a DNR," she admitted, turning earnestly to Richard and Miranda. Her eyes betrayed an uncertainty and hesitation never before observed in Yang.

_Damn_. Richard had forgotten about the DNR. He had known about it though. He recalled Derek, bright-eyed and full of nerves filling him in on his way to scrub in. At the time Richard hadn't questioned it, not caring to what lengths it took to get her to agree to the surgery. Now it complicated things significantly.

"Shut up, Yang."

Richard felt a shiver run down his spine. He had the curious desire to leave the room, to leave the hospital; something he could honestly say he'd never experienced before. There was something discomforting about this building at this moment. Despite his uneasiness, he suspected that his disappearance would not be well received, and would result in unfavorable consequences. His feet remained rooted to the floor.

"She knew this might happen, that's why she signed it," Yang pressed.

"I don't care what she signed."

"Alex, this is not what she wants."

Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life.

The sound in the small room changed as one of the monitors indicated a flat-lining.

"Get a crash cart!" ordered Karev.

Richard knew this was an ugly conflict of interest but remained silent. Karev felt dangerous. Crazed. It was all surreal. Miranda managed only to murmur softly, carefully.

"Karev, if she doesn't-."

"I- look at her. Get a crash cart!" demanded Karev fiercely.

Richard felt nothing but eyes on him; heavy, expectant stares. One could say that this was the responsibility that came with having a beautiful office with a view, a fat salary, a prestigious reputation. The price.

Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life.

Who decides?

"Oh, screw the DNR. Hand me those paddles!" he announced firmly, not wanting to waver in his decision.

"Yang, take over compressions, Karev- back, back."

People moved in every direction, doing various tasks, barking various orders. Richard did too. He knew that he had just made a life-altering decision, for many people, and he didn't know who would pay for it, and how.

"Charge to 300," he said, seizing the defibrillators from the nurse, gripping them tightly before thrusting them at his patient.

"Clear!"

Richard glanced at the monitors, hoping for (but not really expecting) a change.

He repeated his actions over and over, each time growing more panicked.

"Come on, come on," he urged, not sure if the words escaped his mouth or not.

So thick was Richard's spell of concentration that he saw and heard nothing but the monitor.

"Clear!" he tried once more, attempting to force life back into the girl.

Lifting the paddles from her chest, Richard's eyes returned immediately to the small screen. His fingers slid clumsily along the instrument's handles, hot sweat dripping down them as they relaxed until the next shock. In a split-moment's pondering, Richard couldn't help but wonder how many people in this room were funding Izzie's death, or else how much her survival would cost later on.

Whatever the cost, he was willing to pay.

_***Next up is Alex's POV… definitely the hardest one for me to write.***_


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